


Closets

by Zombubble



Series: Dragonflies [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Grief, M/M, Prince Katsuki Yuuri, Secret Identity, and a barista at a local cafe, and frankly, he's also the weirdest roommate phichit's ever had, how is he still on this earth, kitchen horror stories, kitchen misadventures, phichit regrets letting things get as far as they did, phichit skates still, the ceiling, the fucking ceiling how, though not related to death, yuuri - Freeform, yuuri's his disaster roommate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-03-08 09:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombubble/pseuds/Zombubble
Summary: In which Phichit moves in with a human disaster.(Set several years before (and later, during)The Nature of Things.This is a companion Phichit PoV side fic consisting mostly of drabbles and little scenes.)





	1. "Oh, Jeez"

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is a companion fic, updates will be scheduled with respect to TNOT, in order to avoid spoilers. When possible, I'll post a date for the next update.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of this side story don't tie into The Nature of Things quite yet, but will fairly soon.

When Phichit puts his bags down in his new apartment, the first thing he notices is his new roommate  sitting on the couch, staring at a takeout menu with a3DS laying forgotten on the cushion next to him. He looks up when the door closes, before offering a small smile.

“You must be Phichit,” he says softly. “I got back while you we're out. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Phichit smiles. “That’d be nice, actually.”

“I’m Yuuri,” he says. “Would you like dinner?” standing,  he walks towards the kitchen. “I was going to order something. I don't mind paying.”

Phichit grins. The tea Yuuri makes is loose-leaf, and he uses an actual ceramic tea set when he serves it. Phichit takes the offered mug, putting honey and a slice of lemon in before taking a sip.

“This is good,” he says softly. Yuuri smiles. “I was going to order Mexican food. Is that ok with you?”

“I'm ok with anything,” Phichit replies.

Yuuri looks at him. “You've got to have _some_ preference,” he says. Phichit only shrugs.

Nodding, Yuuri holds out the menu. “If there’s something you _want,_ though, let me know.” He’s sincere, his voice kind, and Phichit smiles.

“I will.”

They order too much food, but Yuuri smiles and waves off Phichit’s concerns. “Leftovers,” he explains. “Easier than cooking something by hand.”

Yuuri tips the delivery driver well, and kicks the door shut behind him as he holds up the bags.

“Food’s here!” He sets the food down on the table with a grin. Their first night together is spent chatting over tacos. Phichit tells Yuuri he’s a competitive figure skater, about his determination to show the world what Thai skaters are capable of.

“I'm a Political Science major,” Yuuri says in response.

“Do you want to be a politician or something?”

“Or something,” Yuuri replies. He polishes off the last of the taco he's eating, using a napkin to wipe his face and fingers. “Let’s save the rest for tomorrow, huh?”

Phichit nods.

 

~*~

 

Phichit shortly realizes that Yuuri is still on this earth solely by the grace of whatever gods might exist. The man constantly buys new underwear and can’t load the dishwasher to save his life. Which is why Phichit is far from surprised when he hears a whine as Yuuri walks into their apartment with a basket of freshly-dried laundry.

“Phichit? My shirts are pink.”

A cursory glance into Yuuri’s laundry basket explains the problem. _Someone_ had apparently thought it was a good idea to throw his new red dress shirt in with most of his other button-ups. _White_ button-ups.

He begins to wonder if Yuuri has ever done a load of laundry in his life.

 

To be fair, Yuuri’s not entirely useless. He keeps his stuff neatly organized in his room. He tidies up every few days, and takes out the trash when he remembers. Over time, his dishwasher loading skills improve, and Phichit manages to go weeks without finding a bit of dried food in between the tines of a fork.

Reminders on post-its start popping up around the apartment, written in a flowing, elegant cursive. Some, Phichit understands. “Trash out” is self-explanatory, as is “Press ‘Normal’ then ‘Start’” stuck to the dishwasher. Others defy explanation. There is a series of indecipherable doodles (“1 [squiggly droplet thing] // 1 [vague boxy shape]” is an impressively cryptic one), and some notes are a hodgepodge of seemingly random words. “No” is placed on the coffee pot one morning. Wary of broken electronics, Phichit resigns himself to picking up some form of caffeine on the way to the rink. He decides to double-check with Yuuri before he leaves, just in case he needs to unplug it. Three texts and a phone call later, Phichit finds out that the coffee maker is functioning just fine, Yuuri’s main issue with it is production quality.

The man’s been working as a barista for less than two months and he’s already a coffee snob. The kitchen’s never been cleaner, though.

 

Given Yuuri’s habit of buying things he feels he needs, Phichit is surprisingly unsurprised when he walks through the front door late one afternoon to find a brand new espresso machine on the kitchen counter. Yuuri’s sitting on the couch with a steaming mug and one of his Political Science textbooks.

“How do you afford all this stuff?” Phichit asks, plopping down next to Yuuri.

“My parents send a stipend every month to cover living expenses.”

“What do your parents do? Where do they live?”

Yuuri looks down and to the side. “I don’t really like talking about them.”

Where Phichit would expect him to look resentful or angry, instead Yuuri just looks incredibly lonely.

 

~*~

 

The first time Phichit comes home to find Yuuri curled up in a corner, he’s entirely clueless as to what to do. Several minutes of stammered attempts to soothe Yuuri just make things worse until he gives up and asks if Yuuri wants to watch _The King and The Skater_ with him. It’s his go-to pick-me-up and he can’t figure out anything else to offer. To his surprise, Yuuri nods. He stands up, remaining, for all intents and purposes, a human burrito, and shuffles his way down the hallway.

Phichit offers him a cup of tea. Yuuri cradles it to his chest while watching the movie for the first time.

Phichit knows the movie well enough that he’s more interested in watching Yuuri’s first experience.

Somehow, afterwards, the movie seems even more special.

 

When Phichit comes home two weeks later to see Burrito Yuuri on the couch watching _The King and The Skater_ , he knows he’s successfully figured out how to comfort him. He walks over to Yuuri a few minutes later in pjs with two mugs of steaming tea. Yuuri leans on his shoulder. Phichit gets the impression that Yuuri misses physical contact, and tells him he doesn’t mind.

Yuuri only nods, but later that night he sits closer to Phichit when he’s playing with his hamsters. Phichit initiates second-time formal introductions to the hamsters for Yuuri, but Yuuri addresses each of them by name without prompting. Phichit really likes this kid, never mind the fact that Yuuri’s years older.

He takes a picture when all of the hamsters simultaneously decide Yuuri’s hair is a nice place to sleep.

 

Winter brings with it the smell of crisp, cold air and smoke. Phichit sits up in bed abruptly, sniffing the air. Definitely smoke.

He’s out of bed in a flash, running through the apartment frantically until he finds the source.

Yuuri Katsuki is standing in the living room, iron in one hand, and the other resting on a pair of charred jeans on an ironing board. Phichit puts his forehead in the palm of his hand, forcing himself to stop running through his emergency Hamster Evacuation Plan. “Why?” is all he asks.

“They were wrinkled.” Is the response.

Phichit gestures disbelievingly at the scorch mark. “Did you just leave it there?”

Yuuri blushes and shrinks into himself a little. “I thought the longer it stayed the better it worked.”

That afternoon is spent teaching Yuuri how to iron a crease in his pants without scorching them beyond recognition. Yuuri goes through every pair he has, save the irreparably burned pants strewn over the back of the armchair.

 

~*~

 

The first day of winter break, Phichit finally figures out why Yuuri has a gear bag and so many workout clothes.

Walking in for afternoon practice (now that his afternoons aren’t devoted to classes) he sees Yuuri skating laps around the rink. He’s just decided to offer to teach Yuuri to skate when the man jumps a near-flawless triple axel.

So much for that.

Apparently Yuuri’s had some experience skating.

“I have a lot of free time. It helps me calm down,” is what Yuuri says when asked.

“Why don’t you compete?”

Yuuri shrugs. “I wouldn’t do well under that kind of pressure.”

The next few weeks find Yuuri on the ice almost every afternoon after work, and Celestino’s taken to offering pointers when needed. It’s these sessions that make Phichit remember Yuuri’s dance background, as he watches Yuuri twist and turn, gliding across the ice. He makes a mental note to ask Yuuri for pointers, maybe take a class with him.

 

~*~

 

Phichit finds it interesting that Yuuri disappears for about 5 hours every Sunday. As far as he knows, the man doesn’t go to church, and has no hobbies outside of video games and ice skating. He wants to question it, but every Sunday evening Yuuri does something particularly mindless, a clear indication he’s been too focused for too long.

Phichit sits next to him and does homework around corralling his hamsters.

He’s beginning to see the merits of furniture without gaps underneath.

Yuuri eventually cites his disappearances as visits to his sister across town. He’s mentioned his sister can be intense sometimes (and the fact that the only time Phichit’s met her was when she did a walk-through of their apartment for some reason confirms this). Phichit still doesn’t understand how a family visit can leave Yuuri so drained, but he doesn’t push it.

 

~*~

 

Three months after Phichit moves in with the weirdest roommate he’s ever had, he’s reminded about just how strange Yuuri can be. Phichit’s excited proposition of a hastily-planned end-of-semester party is met with Yuuri’s stunned face and a quiet “Are you going to be able to find a caterer in time?”

Who the fuck caters a school party?

He gently reminds Yuuri that pizza delivery is a thing and that everyone’ll bring the extras – chips, wings, soda, and likely plenty of beer.

Three months after Phichit moves in with the weirdest roommate he’s ever had, he realizes why aforementioned roommate is adamant about _not drinking in public_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I've been dying to post chapter three of TNOT but am _determined_ to keep it on an update schedule, so here. Have the first part of the companion fic.
> 
> This is going to be in much shorter chapters than TNOT, since it's supplemental and really about key moments in Phichit and Yuuri's time together. It won't cover major plot points of TNOT, but does add supplemental information and context to the main fic.
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [ @we-call-everything-katsudon ](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


	2. "How the hell..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phichit mourns his cookware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ties in directly to [Chapter Three of The Nature of Things.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548/chapters/30815460) When Phichit shows Viktor pictures of Yuuri's failure, this is where he got them.
> 
> This takes place in the first few months of them moving in together (several years before the events of TNOT)

It’s late one winter evening, when Phichit’s frustration at being the only one cooking any of their meals finally bubbles to the surface. Yuuri’s sitting on the couch with his DS, smashing 3D goombas somewhere in the Mushroom Kingdom, when Phichit snaps.

“Would…would it kill you to cook dinner sometime?”

Yuuri’s eyes blink owlishly behind their lenses. His throat contracts as he swallows, before he looks back at his DS. “I can order us takeout if you like.”

Phichit sighs. That wasn’t where he was going, he was just tired of being the only person in the apartment who actually bothered to make meals. “You don’t need to buy dinner, there’re plenty of ingredients in the fridge. You can just make something if you want.”

Yuuri bites his lip and nods.

 

The next evening, Phichit swears he’ll never regret another series of words quite as much in his life. Long practice means Phichit’s walking into his apartment complex late at night. Snow crunches under his feet as he inhales the cold air. Practice had gone well. He’d landed his jumps perfectly, his step sequences felt divine. He takes the stairs in twos, motivated in part by the meal Yuuri had promised would be ready when he got home. Exiting the stairwell, the acrid stench of something _burning_ assaults his nostrils. His heart pounds in his chest as he nears the end of the hall, the smell only growing stronger. He fumbles with his keys and flings open the front door, letting it slam shut behind him. He mourns the loss of his security deposit as he takes in the disaster his apartment has become.

Yuuri is sitting on the floor next to the kitchen table, covered in flour, some sort of liquid, and a viscous fluid that looks like egg whites. A metal frying pan is warped on the stove, a pot sitting next to it with tendrils of smoke still rising. Shards of glass litter the counter and floor, and something brown oozes slowly, dripping heavily onto the tile. A small pile of raw chicken sits on a cutting board on the table next to a new loaf of bread and a carton of eggs. A half-burned roll of paper towels lies abandoned on the back of the stove next to a melted spatula. Half of the glasses in the dish drainer are broken, a large metal lid laying haphazardly on top of them. Chunks of some sort of white gunk have been flung across the kitchen, the stove is covered, there’s junk on the fridge, two walls, all over their cupboards…

The ceiling.

His mouth gapes. “Y-Yuuri what…”

“I tried to cook pasta,” Yuuri replies sheepishly.

Phichit takes a moment to gather his thoughts, looking back around the mess of the kitchen. “How…”

“The pot exploded.”

Phichit narrows his eyes, walking carefully into the mess. “Yuuri, this is a pressure cooker. Normal pots don’t have latches.” He looks into the pot. White mush is stuck onto the bottom, a gaping hole in the middle and blackened around the edges. He looks incredulously at Yuuri. “Was this the pasta?” His roommate nods.

Sighing, Phichit rolls up his sleeves. “Why don’t you order us takeout, and I’ll get to work cleaning up.”

The frying pan on the stove is burned irreparably, copper shining through on the bottom, metal warped beyond repair. The pressure cooker doesn’t look _too_ bad, but once Phichit starts scraping out the gunk in the center the extent of the damage becomes clear. There’s no way this pot will ever be of service again.

As he picks up shards of glass, two mugs he can’t find the handles for, and what he swears is a piece of one of their cupboard doors, he makes his decision. “Yuuri?” he says abruptly. His roommate looks over at him, holding takeout menus in both hands. Phichit meets Yuuri’s wide eyes and, in a voice that would make his mother proud, lays down the law.

“You’re banned from the kitchen.”

 

Over the next few days Yuuri slowly negotiates back some of his kitchen privileges, primarily so he can make tea unhindered, and heat up the leftovers he inevitably (intentionally?) has from when they order take out. Once the kitchen looks mostly serviceable, Phichit makes Yuuri drive him to the nearest hardware store. They wander the aisles while Phichit searches for what he needs. Occasionally, Yuuri runs his fingers along tools, picking up the ones he can and looking them over carefully. They leave with only one small bag, Phichit shoving the bag and its contents into the pocket of his hoodie.

Once they’re home, Phichit tells Yuuri to go to his room, and gets to work. Two hours later, he brings his roommate out to see his handiwork. Yuuri stares at the stark red lines on the kitchen floor, concentrated in front of the stove. Crosshatching made sure the red electrical tape was obvious. Zones are marked, the most obnoxious area being in front of the stove, an angry red on the tiled floor.

“Are you fucking serious?” Yuuri’s voice is quiet, disbelieving.

“You literally _blew up_ my pressure cooker, Yuuri. Yes, I'm serious.” Phichit looks at him. Yuuri looks almost offended. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly as he examines the floor. “Learn to cook,” Phichit says firmly, “and then we'll talk.”

“How am I supposed to learn to cook if I'm banned from the kitchen?” Yuuri looks at him skeptically.

“I'll teach you!”

 

The first time Phichit teaches Yuuri to cook, the experience consists mostly of him cooking while explaining the process. Yuuri leans against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. The second time, Yuuri ends up dumping half a shaker of salt in the rice, and apologizes by getting them food from Phichit’s favorite Thai restaurant. It's the only one he trusts (with good reason).

The third attempt to teach Yuuri how to make anything on a stove results in sauce so egregiously over seasoned it brings a tear to Phichit’s eye.

“How do you mess up this _badly?”_ He asks in shock.

“To be fair, it's hard to season things until they ‘look right,’” Yuuri emphasizes with finger quotes, “when you don’t _know_ what looks right.”

He makes a valid point.

After the fifth time, takeout menus in hand, Yuuri promises to replace Phichit’s cookware, and stay out of the No-Yuuri Zone. They order sushi and watch The King and the Skater. Yuuri pouts over his dinner, moving pieces of rolls around with his chopsticks, and Phichit wonders why he looks almost angry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next ficlet I have written is scheduled to be published sometime in March (again, to avoid spoilers for The Nature of Things), but if I end up writing something between now and then, it may be posted here!
> 
> **Update (3/20/18): The next chapter will be posted in two weeks, on April 2, 2018, along with a simultaneous small update for [All This And Heaven Too (Yuuri PoV)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026677)**
> 
> **You can find me on tumblr at[ @we-call-everything-katsudon ](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com) I'll be posting updates about scheduling there as well.**


	3. "This is a joke, right?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's truly incredible what a forgotten water bottle can lead to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter takes place about six months after Yuuri and Phichit move in together, and several years before [The Nature of Things,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548) and probably covers the span of a month or so.

Yuuri’s sister’s voice carries throughout the apartment.

“If you keep pulling this sort of stunt, he’s going to get suspicious, and he’s going to figure out who you are.” Phichit frowns. “What then, Your Highness? Can you trust him not to tell anyone he knows the prince of Akitsushima? Especially with your unique security concerns?” 

Phichit’s jaw drops.  _ What? _

Yuuri’s response is firm. “He won’t figure it out, I’ve told him my parents are wealthy and live outside the country. He thinks I have little desire to talk to or about them, and that they send a stipend every month. It’s not like he’s going to see me wearing designer jeans and automatically know I’m the crown prince, Nee-chan. Practically no one knows I exist anymore if they don’t read tabloid rags or those royal-watcher blogs.”

_ What?!  _ Phichit flattens himself behind the wall. One forgotten water bottle, and he seems to have walked in on a conversation he was  _ definitely _ not supposed to hear. A ferocious whisper erupts in the next room, followed by a small thump.

He retreats to his bedroom, grabbing the green plastic bottle off of his desk. It’s almost empty, but filling it at the rink won’t be a problem. The main issue right now is getting out the door without being noticed.

Back at the end of the hall, just around the corner from Yuuri and Hana, Phichit pauses. Doing mental acrobatics trying to figure out an escape route, his options narrow significantly with each impossible plan. The most pressing issue is it sounds like they’re now sitting at the table. Which has a full view of the front door. Phichit ventures a glance around the corner, snapping his head back when he narrowly avoids being seen.

There’s no escape, and the longer he waits, the more likely it is Celestino will call him asking where he is, and the more likely his presence will be taken as suspicious rather than coincidental.

He has no choice but to make himself known.

Stepping into the kitchen, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I-I won’t tell anyone,” he stammers.

“Phichit what are you….why are you here?” Yuuri's eyes are wide behind his glasses, his mouth gapes. He looks terrified. 

Phichit shakes the water bottle in his left hand in response. Yuuri’s sister –  _ is she his sister? –  _ puts her face in her hands. “Your Highness, would you like to explain to him while I grab the necessary forms?”  _ She doesn’t talk like she’s his sister.  _ She stands, and walks forward until she’s directly in front of Phichit. “If you cooperate with us, we may guarantee your continued association with the prince. If not…” She shrugs. She pushes Phichit into the chair across from Yuuri, and bends down to whisper in his ear. “Stay put until I get back. We’ll be paying close attention to you over the next few days.”

“Nee-chan,” Yuuri says abruptly, a note of warning in his voice. “If you would get the paperwork?”

She nods curtly, walking briskly out the front door. Yuuri sighs.

Phichit looks at him. “Paperwork?”

He nods. “The palace security team requires a background check and non-disclosure agreement, among other things, for anyone we need to tell. Or, apparently, who finds out.”

“You’re making me sign an NDA?” He would consider taking offense if he wasn’t still reeling.

“I was sent out of the country because there was an attempt to assassinate me, so it’s kind of…necessary.” Yuuri’s looking at his lap, moving his hands against each other softly. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.” He almost sounds like he’s going to cry. Phichit reaches across the table, catching Yuuri’s attention.

“We’re friends, Yuuri,” he says determinedly. “I’ll do whatever I need to keep it that way.” He punctuates this last statement with a nod, staring off into the distance.  Yuuri lets out a small laugh, covering his mouth. He coughs, suddenly, sitting up straight.

“How much did you hear?”

Phichit sets his bottle on the table, “Your sister asking you if I could keep it quiet. Your response. I came back in to get my water bottle while you guys were making sandwiches and I was going to slip out, but…”

“We would have seen you.”

“Yeah. I figured it would be best if I came forward instead of being found out.”

“Probably smart. I suppose I should explain, then.” Yuuri stands. “Let’s change, get tea, sit on the couch. It’s a long story.”

They reconvene a few minutes later, both dressed in pajamas. Yuuri makes tea perfectly, like he always does, and joins Phichit on the couch.

“Did you text Ciao Ciao?” he asks softly.

Phichit nods. “I assume today’s shot as far as practice goes?”

Biting his lip, Yuuri nods. “I’m sorry. We have to make sure this stays quiet.” He looks down at his lap, playing with his fingers. “So I need to keep you here until the paperwork’s done.” He’s quiet, apprehension clear in his voice.

“What’s going to happen after that?” Phichit asks quietly.

“It depends on the background check and what the security team decides. If everything checks out, stuff stays like it is now, except now you know. You won’t be able to talk about it with anyone but my bodyguard and me, but other than that everything stays the same.”

“If it doesn’t?”

“You won’t see me again.” Yuuri’s expression is dark, his hands clasped together tightly. The admission knocks the air out of Phichit’s chest.

“You’ll just…disappear?” His voice comes out shakier than he intends. Yuuri is his best friend, one of the first people he got to know after moving to the States. The thought of losing him so suddenly makes his chest tighten unpleasantly.

Yuuri nods somberly. “I will. Until it’s time for me to go back. Once I’m back in the eye of the general public, I’d be able to contact you again. For now, the point is for me to stay hidden, and if the palace can’t trust you to do that, they’ll remove your ability to expose me. If…if that ends up happening, Phichit, you have to promise me you won’t look for me. The harder you try, the more drastic measures they’ll take to keep you away.”

Phichit nods. “I promise. Promise me if that happens, you’ll come find me when you can?” The tight feeling in his chest loosens a bit with Yuuri’s enthusiastic nod.

Sighing, Yuuri sits back. “I… I’m the Crown Prince of Akitsushima. Sachima. That’s what it’s known as by foreigners.” Yuuri sighs, looking at the ceiling.

“Are you ok?” Phichit asks, concerned.

Yuuri nods. “It’s just…I haven’t been able to tell anyone since I was eight. It’s… a new experience.”

“Who all knows?”

“Minako-sensei,” Yuuri says quietly. “Hana, my bodyguard.” He turns his mug around in his hands before taking a sip. “My family knows what country I’m in now, but not what name I'm using or where exactly I live.”

“Is Yuuri your real name?”

He nods. “We decided, when I was going into high school, that I should get used to being known as Yuuri again, since I wanted to go to college and we were hoping I’d be returning to Hasetsu soon.” He smiles. “Katsuki’s an assumed name, I technically don’t  _ have _ a last name.”

“Weird.”

“Now that I think about it, yeah.” Yuuri smiles. “I’ve been using a last name of some sort since I was eight, it feels almost weird to remember I don’t have one.”

“What happened when you were eight?” Phichit asks. He regrets it when Yuuri's face falls.

“I was sent out of the country.” Taking a deep breath, Yuuri pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping one arm around them. “When I was seven, there was an attempt on my life that almost succeeded. My parents had been worried about security for a while; there’d been rumors and suspicions of other attempts. Once or twice, they found actual plans, some that had been set in motion, but they never got very far.”

“Wow.” 

Yuuri nods. “So when they almost killed me, my parents practically confined me to the palace. They were panicking, you know? We’ve always suspected that my grandfather’s death may not have been strictly natural. My dad played it as safely as he could, not pushing the envelope much when it came to legislation. Especially concerning the nobility.” Yuuri sighs. “But he made a few tax decisions people didn’t like, made a trade agreement or two, and the threats became more overt. His reign is progressive, yes, but not as much as the general public has been hoping for.” He sips his tea again, contemplative. “When I was young, he was being pushed from both sides. The nobility favored a more traditional approach, while the general public wanted us to be more progressive and stop bowing to old money.”

“So they took it out on you?” 

“Someone tried, yes. We never found out who it was.” Yuuri is strangely calm, almost to the point of it being unnerving. “My parents decided that, in order to keep me safe, drastic measures were necessary. When I’d just turned eight, I think it was December of that year, they decided to put me into what was effectively Witness Protection.”

“Holy shit,” Phichit hears himself say.

“The security team got me papers, there’s a group of like, three people who know where I am and what I’m doing, but they’re based in Hasetsu… but they got me papers, I was assigned a bodyguard, Hana, whose family has been with mine for generations, and… she and I left. She poses as my older sister, and we get together every week to discuss politics and keep me caught up. Minako-sensei works on dancing and etiquette with me, when we’re alone. They’re keeping me prepared for royal life. For the monarchy.”

“Do they use your title?”

“Only when we’re alone. Phichit, you… right now, you don’t have to.” Yuuri's eyes are wide as he looks over, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

“Right now?” Phichit frowns, adjusting his legs. They’re starting to go numb from being under him, so he stretches them across the couch, pushing his feet against Yuuri’s hip. His cold toes slip under the hem of Yuuri's sweater, and he wiggles them against his skin. Squirming, Yuuri laughs, batting Phichit’s feet away. Phichit settles for resting them on Yuuri’s lap. 

Yuuri sighs. “If I end up going back, end up resuming my role as Crown Prince, you’d be expected to use my title unless we were in private.”

The door opens behind them, and Yuuri's sister – bodyguard – walks in. She shuts the door securely behind her, taking a seat in the armchair next to Yuuri. 

“Highness,” she says gently, “I’ve informed the palace. They need the paperwork today, and I’ll be accompanying you and Phichit for the next few days until we have their decision.”

“I’m going to be followed around?” Phichit asks. He can understand their concern, but he’s not sure how being tailed is going to work.

Yuuri nods. “I'm sorry,” he says, “but the palace has rules.”

Sighing, Phichit nods. 

 

Three hours later, Phichit’s hand is cramping, but everything the palace needs is signed. “I’m surprised you guys don’t need a blood test, my favorite color and top five movies for a bad day.”

“We both know the only movie on that list would be The King and The Skater.”

Phichit grins. Yuuri knows him well. “Does your mom do figure skating? ‘Cause, you know…”

“She’s never been one for figure skating, no,” Yuuri says, laughing. His face falls slightly and he looks contemplative. “You’re taking all of this surprisingly well.”

Phichit snorts. “Well, it’s no wonder anymore why you’re so weird, Yuuri.” The slap on the arm he gets is deserved, but Yuuri’s looking more relaxed than Phichit’s seen in his 6 months living with him.

 

~*~

 

“Phichit!” Yuuri's voice breaks through his dreams, and he sits up with a start as a heavy weight hits his bed, dipping the mattress. “Phichit, are you awake?”

“I am  _ now,” _ he says, grumpily. Turning the light near his bed on, he’s met with a disheveled Yuuri, eyes bright behind a wide grin.

“Phichit, the palace is letting me stay!”

He’s suddenly very awake. “They are?” Grinning, he and Yuuri throw their arms around each other.

“They are!” Yuuri says happily. “I'm not going to lose you!”

Phichit squeezes tightly. Yuuri had tried to sound hopeful these last few days, but with the possibility of separation looming on the horizon, it had been tense. Now, they both sigh in relief as the weight eases, holding each other in the dim light of the room. Phichit’s hamsters chatter merrily in the background, and when Yuuri pulls back he has tears in his eyes. 

“They’re letting me  _ stay,” _ Yuuri says again, disbelieving.

 

~*~

 

Many would assume that finding out your best friend is royalty would result in an awkward living situation and a vague sense of inferiority, but the upshot for Phichit is he finally understands Yuuri’s maddeningly inconsistent inability to take care of himself. Some of the more advanced tasks he handles easily. Dealing with government bureaucracy, for example, is something Yuuri’s (un)surprisingly adept at.

Cleaning the bathroom…not so much.

Which is why Phichit has to swallow a groan when he comes home to a suds-covered floor and Yuuri, flabbergasted, in the middle of it all. A bottle of dish soap is sitting on the counter, liquid about two inches lower than it had been when Phichit had washed the breakfast dishes.

“Dish soap, Yuuri?”

“The bar we have next to the sink wasn’t working.” Yuuri grumbles as he shifts, water and soap moving around him.

“Have you ever cleaned a bathroom in your life?”

“No.”

“Not even at work?” Phichit raises his eyebrows.

“Bathroom’s in the back and doubles as a storage closet. My coworkers usually take care of it.”

“Didn’t you live with your bodyguard? For a few years?”

“She did the cleaning that  _ wasn’t  _ done by a cleaning service,” Yuuri says, putting his head in his hands, “so no, I’ve never had to clean a bathroom.”

Phichit turns on his heel and walks out.

When he returns, arms full of towels and  _ real _ cleaning supplies, Yuuri is wringing out the bath mat in the tub. Sorting out the mess takes almost two hours, but when they’re done, Yuuri at least has a functional understanding of how bathroom-cleaning works. Phichit feels accomplished.

He laughs to himself when he thinks of how all the stuck-up palace people would feel seeing their Crown Prince determinedly using a toilet brush.

 

~*~

 

“What does your family look like?”

Yuuri looks up from his homework. “Phichit, you can’t tell me you haven’t googled my family by now.”

“Guilty. Your sister has an Instagram, I followed her. So what’re they like? In person? Do you really have a bad relationship with them or was that cover?” His tone is more curious than accusatory.

Yuuri relaxes a little, leaning back and running his hands through his hair. “It’s…complicated.” He says after a while. “We get along just fine, I love my parents and sister, but…” Phichit recognizes the far-away look in Yuuri’s eyes as one he often gets when he’s reminded of home. “But at the same time, they had an eight-year-old that narrowly avoided assassination and their method of dealing with that was ‘Send him away, he can’t get hurt if no one knows who or where he is’. I was a kid. I was scared – terrified – to begin with, and they thought sending me to a foreign country I barely knew with one bodyguard and severely limited contact with my family was a good idea.”

Phichit wraps his arm around Yuuri, pulling him close. “Just when you needed them most, they sent you away.” Yuuri nods, swallowing the beginnings of tears.

“They were trying to keep me safe, I can’t fault them for that. And it’s been successful. Obviously. But I had no clue what I was doing. ‘Act like a normal person,’ they said. I had no  _ idea _ how normal people acted. No clue how they lived. It was a huge adjustment, and I didn’t have any say in the matter.”

“Rough.” 

Yuuri makes a noise of agreement, before abruptly standing up. “Tea?” 

Phichit nods. After a few minutes, Yuuri speaks again. “You know, my mom used to make me tea when I was upset. Or hot chocolate. I loved going down to the kitchens with her, sitting on the stool while she put stuff together. The staff, by that point, was used to it, so they didn’t try to interfere. When I was old enough, she taught me how. It’s one of the few things I can make for myself.”

Phichit had heard about the often late-night tea sessions Yuuri had with his mom, but this somehow feels more genuine.

Yuuri sets a newly-steeping mug of tea in front of Phichit, taking his place at the table. “My dad’s not nearly as stiff as he usually looks, you know. He’s really fun. He has a good sense of humor.” Seeing Phichit’s surprised look, he continues, “I used to play hide-and-seek in the palace with my guards and this one time…well, I was hiding. They were angrily trying to find me to do something or other, in this case I think I was supposed to be having a fitting for my formal uniform for a portrait, but I ended up under my dad’s desk. Naturally, he comes in with the Prime Minister of Japan and didn’t figure out I was in there until he kicked me halfway through their meeting.”  _ Naturally. Naturally he comes in with the Prime Minister. _

“Were you sent out?”

Yuuri laughs, “No, no. My dad kept nudging me with his foot and sneaking me candy out of his desk drawer until he stood up to see the Prime Minister off. Came back and told me if I’d wanted to avoid detection, it would have been easier to hide behind the armchair.”

“Did you avoid the fitting?”

Yuuri smiles, staring into his mug. “No, they still dragged me away for that. It wasn’t as bad, though, somehow.”

They sit quietly for a while, savoring the tea.

“This is nice, you know.” Yuuri’s soft confession breaks the silence. “Being able to talk about it to someone other than my bodyguard.”

“Do you not talk to your family?”

“Not often, no.” Yuuri turns his mug around in his hands. “I mostly talk to Mari. My sister. My  _ biological  _ sister. We text a lot. She sends me pictures of Vicchan, my dog, when I’m upset.” He smiles softly. “Somehow she always knows, even when I don’t tell her outright. We’ve been close since we were kids. Every time I’d run away, it’d inevitably be her that found me, even when I was in the passages.”

Phichit’s eyes widen.  _ “Secret… _ passages?” Hope colors his voice as stares at Yuuri.

Yuuri grins. “Throughout the palace.”

Phichit lets out a gasp.

 

~*~

 

Phichit stumbles on a gold mine one late afternoon in the library, browsing the Political Science section. A book about Sachima’s Royal Family is sitting on the shelf, between two nondescript (and relatively ancient) books on that same country’s foreign policy. He glances through its pages, and seeing a slew of color photographs, he immediately absconds with the book back to his workstation. He opens to the first chapter, and sees only colored reprints of paintings. Yuuri’s ancestors. He flips through the chapters until he finds some towards the end about the youngest generation of royals, and his eyes land on a caption under a picture of a young girl and an infant.

_ Fig 1-A. Princess Mari with her new little brother, Crown Prince (and future king) Yuuri. _

Somehow he’s never thought of Yuuri eventually ruling a country.

A few pages later, he’s met with one of the most adorable pictures he’s ever seen. Yuuri is about four years old, standing in military dress in front of a host of other similarly-formally-dressed adults. He’s holding a delicate, manicured hand, possibly his mother’s, but his face is scrunched into petulant frown. His hat does little to shade his eyes from the bright morning sun, so they’re mostly closed, lips pursed with displeasure.

_ Fig 3-C. Crown Prince Yuuri looks on as the military performs a salute on the occasion of the coronation of his father, King Toshiya of Sachima. _

His father’s coronation celebration, and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Phichit whips out his phone and takes a picture of the photo.

 

**To: Prince Buttercup**   
**> >>   [photo attached] what’s with this face, yuuri?**

 

A few minutes later, he’s greeted with a response.

 

**From: Prince Buttercup**   
**< <<   omg phichit where did you find that? (⁄>⁄⁄⁄< ⁄)**

**To: Prince Buttercup**   
**> >>   library. you look so angry.**

**From: Prince Buttercup**   
**< <<   what’s that from?**

**To: Prince Buttercup**   
**> >>   it says your dad’s coronation. was the military salute not interesting enough for his royal highness?**

 

Phichit’s phone shows Yuuri typing. Then a pause. More typing. A longer pause.

 

**From: Prince Buttercup**   
**< <<   ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ i could barely see it. it was hot, i wanted to play, and that shirt itched like crazy.**

**To: Prince Buttercup**   
**> >>   weren’t you somewhere right near them?**

 

Another long pause.

 

**From: Prince Buttercup**   
**< <<   proximity doesn’t matter when you’re almost blind. it was all a blur. literally. (─ω─) **

**To: Prince Buttercup**   
**> >>   lol didn’t think about how they don’t give contacts to kids**

**From: Prince Buttercup**   
**< <<   we didn’t know i needed glasses at that point. **   
**< <<   i was running into things. it was bad. (O_O )  **

 

Phichit laughs and continues looking through the last chapters.  He snaps another picture of Yuuri giving a Supreme Royal Eyeroll at a state dinner when he was six, and yet another of Yuuri with a toy poodle.

 

**To: Prince Buttercup**   
**> >>   [photo attached] is this vicchan?**

**From: Prince Buttercup**   
**< <<   yes.**   
**< <<   [photo attached]**

 

Yuuri’s forwarded him a more recent photo of his dog. Vicchan is curled up on a plush velvet cushion, half-chewed bone on the floor next to him. He’s a little thinner than he is in the photo in the book, with some grey hairs around his eyes and nose, but otherwise unchanged.

 

**From: Prince Buttercup**   
**< <<   mari sent that to me a few days ago. **

**To: Prince Buttercup**   
**> >>   velvet for a dog?**   
**> >>   cleaning up must be ridiculous**

**From: Prince Buttercup**   
**< <<   …**   
**< <<   (￣▽￣;)ゞ**

 

Phichit stifles his laughter. He adds the book to the pile of things to check out, and browses the shelves for more.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!
> 
> You can expect the next update within the next month or so. I haven't decided yet how I'm going to stagger Closets and [All This And Heaven, Too,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026677) but I will be posting scheduling updates on my tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/) when I've figured everything out.
> 
> ATAHT will be updated tomorrow afternoon, as scheduled.


	4. "This is... a lot."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phichit is still getting used to things and the ball starts rolling, though neither of them can imagine where it will go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These snippets take place, still, well before [The Nature of Things,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548) within the first year after Phichit finds out (about a year and a half before Viktor shows up in Detroit).

Palace rules mean Phichit has to refrain from posting too many photos or videos of Yuuri on his Instagram, but he takes pictures and video regardless while they’re at the rink. The man is landing his jumps as consistently as Phichit himself, an impressive feat considering he has no plans to compete.

Phichit asked the other day if he wanted to, but Yuuri just shrugged. “It wasn’t really ever an option for me.” He was nonchalant about it, but Phichit heard grim resignation in his voice.

Phichit, as always, thinks if Yuuri would compete, he’d be Phichit’s biggest competition. With some training, he could rival Viktor Nikiforov.

Out to dinner that evening, he says so.

Yuuri blushes fiercely, pushing his mashed potatoes around with his fork.

“I’m serious,” Phichit whispers as softly as he can. “You have the drive, and you have the talent, you could do amazing things.”

Mashed potato shoveling slows as Yuuri grows more contemplative. He bites his lower lip, and Phichit  _ knows _ he’s just analyzing his skills for any problems he can point out.

“Yuuri, you really could go far in competition! Grand Prix! Worlds!! I wouldn’t be surprised if you went to the Olympics,” he whispers earnestly. “It’s not like it hasn’t been done before, Princess Anne from England competed in the 70’s.”

“Princess Anne wasn’t next in line for the throne. She had the freedom to compete.”

“Yuuri, you could do it though, if you’re not king yet! Akitoshima – “

“Aki _ tsu _ shima,” he says.

“Akitsushima hasn’t been in the running for a medal at the Olympics in forever, you could change that, Yuuri!”

Yuuri stares determinedly at his plate, holding his silverware tightly. “Phichit, I-“

“You just need to have confidence in yourself!”

“Stop!” Yuuri’s breathing hard, and his hands are turning white gripping the silverware. The people surrounding them glance their way as Yuuri shrinks into the seat, lowering his voice. “Phichit, that’s never been an option for me. It’s never going to be. No matter-“ his voice breaks, “No matter what I want. I have a duty to my country. To my people. I can’t just… ignore that to go train every day. So  _ please. Please  _ stop talking about it.” His voice is barely audible, and when he looks back up at Phichit, his eyes are shining with unshed tears.

Phichit swallows thickly, nodding at Yuuri. “I-I’m sorry, I just thought…”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri replies, “please… just…”

Phichit nods again.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri’s mouth gapes open, eyes wide. “You…you want me to WHAT?!”

“Celestino says it’s good for building muscle and improving core strength. But I don’t want to go alone,” Phichit almost whines. “I’ll do the dishes for a week!”

Yuuri levels him with an appraising look. “Two weeks.”

“You have to go with me at least twice then.”

“Done.”

They print and fill out two sets of forms, Phichit finishing first and watching over Yuuri’s shoulder. As Yuuri’s hand moves quickly across the paper, filling in spaces with his almost disgustingly impeccable script, Phichit has a realization.

“You know, your handwriting makes sense now,” he says.

Yuuri looks up, eyebrow raised. “I was under the impression it was usually legible? I’ve never had any complaints before.”

“No,” Phichit clarifies. “It  _ makes sense _ .” Yuuri just gives him a blank look. “Your handwriting is super fancy. Didn’t make sense with your normal personality, you really don't act like the kind of person is expect to write like that, but knowing you’re, well,  _ you _ it does.”

Yuuri huffs and finishes the last few sections, signing his name at the bottom. It almost surprises Phichit how easily ‘Katsuki’ is written, being an assumed name. This isn’t the first time he’s seen Yuuri sign paperwork, and nothing had ever been off before, but knowing Yuuri’s a prince, knowing his background sheds new light on everything.

_ How long had it taken Yuuri to get used to writing his real first name again, _ he wonders.  _ How long will it take for him to stop writing ‘Katsuki’?  _

The next morning finds Phichit and Yuuri sweaty and tired, outside of a private pole dancing studio, duffels slung over their shoulders. 

“Well that was…something.” Phichit says.

Yuuri makes a noncommittal noise.

Yuuri goes with him the next time, and the one after that. After the fifth time, Phichit suggests he just sign up for the same twice-weekly session that Phichit has. Yuuri does.

It kinda becomes their  _ thing. _

Phichit knows Yuuri has background in dance, especially having worked with Minako a few times himself, but it's interesting to see him take to the pole. It takes a few months for Yuuri to get the hang of things, but once he does, he and Phichit take enjoyment in trying to outdo each other. They’re fairly evenly matched as far as talent goes, but by the end of each session Yuuri invariably wins every time, if only because Phichit doesn’t have as much stamina.

 

~*~

 

Hana and Yuuri have decided on the apartment as their weekly meeting place, now that they don’t need to hide from Phichit, and she’s serving up pancakes when he shuffles into the kitchen. Yuuri smiles. “Do you want coffee?” he asks, moving to stand up.

“Your Highness,” Hana interrupts, “I can bring coffee over, if you want.”

“Phichit, do you want regular coffee or a latte? I don’t mind,” Yuuri says. Hana sighs in the background, mutters something about ‘how a royal should be acting’ and ‘getting into good habits,’ but when Phichit asks for a latte he smiles.

Phichit’s drink is handed over in quick order, and Yuuri looks at Hana with a tentative grin. “Nee-chan, would you like something?” He looks almost hopeful.

Pausing for a moment, Hana doesn’t look like she quite knows how to answer the question, but her face eases into a fond smile. “Cappuccino, Highness, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s not,” Yuuri responds as he pulls out a mug. Smiling, he gets to work making the drink and Hana finishes setting three places at the table.

“Your Highness,” she says, and Yuuri glances at her as he wipes down the espresso machine.

“What is it?” He sets Hana’s coffee in front of her and she takes it with a bow.

“Despite the lack of word from the palace, Minako-sensei and I think it prudent to start building further on our training, in imitation of how it would be if you were to be preparing for your return.”

Yuuri makes his own coffee in silence, a contemplative expression on his face. It’s not until he’s wiped down the machine, washed the associated equipment, and sat at his seat, latte in hand, that he speaks.

“Explain your reasoning?” He spreads butter on his pancakes, then pours some syrupy fruit sauce on them.

“There’s been rumor, nothing confirmed by the palace, that His Majesty the King has been… not in top form, lately.”

“Have you  _ asked _ the palace,” Yuuri says as he shoves a bite into his mouth.

“We have. They’ve said there’s no word available on any change in His Majesty’s health status. Much of what Minako has heard has come through staff networks and from the occasional person who’s attended an event with the King.” Taking a sip of her coffee, she smiles at Yuuri. “It’s delicious, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Nee-chan,” Yuuri replies. “The rumors?”

“Yes, apologies. Normally we wouldn’t trust such rumors, however Minako-sensei heard tell from Madame Baranovskaya herself, who had a conversation with your father in person. She said he’d looked unusually tired, and very tense.” Yuuri nods, spearing a piece of fruit and a bit of pancake. “We’re not sure there is any truth to the rumors of illness, but the reports of him being less active have been ongoing for months now.”

“So you think I may go home to become Regent?” Yuuri asks before taking a sip of his latte.

Hana nods. “We do. As Regent, naturally, you’d be expected to compose yourself in the manner of a monarch, and of course the same goes if you take the crown.”

“Am I to practice by composing myself in such a manner?” Yuuri asks. The unusual formality of his tone, Phichit has figured out, means he’s worried or upset. Anxious. Hana knows this too, and her face softens.

“Highness, we won’t expect such composure from you at all times. As we have no official word, we feel full-time training is unnecessary.” Hana reaches out, taking his hand. “We won’t force it again, we just want to make sure you  _ know how _ before you’re in the situation.”

Squeezing her fingers, Yuuri nods. It’s an oddly familiar gesture when juxtaposed with the formality of their verbal interaction. “I understand. I’ll agree to this, starting next week.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Hana says. She offers him a fond smile, one closer to that of an older sister, and Yuuri smiles nervously in return before his face melts into solemnity.

“I still expect such formalities to be dropped at ballet and… and here. Please treat me the same when I’m at home, if we’re not actively having lessons.”

With a short bow of her head, Hana agrees. “I will let Minako-sensei know your conditions, sir.”

“I want title usage kept the same regardless of situation,” Yuuri says. “I don’t want to have my father’s title before I have to.”

“Of course,” Hana says. 

“Yuuri?” Phichit asks. He’s eaten through half of his pancakes while they’ve been talking, but now, for the first time, he has a question.

“What’s up?” The ease with which Yuuri drops his formal speech still takes Phichit by surprise sometimes and he smiles shyly.

“When you’re here, practicing, should I practice, too?”

“Phichit, just because they’re acting more formal doesn’t mean  _ you _ need to, it’s not like that right now.” Taking another bite of his pancakes, Yuuri somehow manages to look like he’s slouching even when he isn't. 

“No, Yuuri,” he says. Yuuri’s misunderstanding the question. “I wanna know if I  _ should _ practice. If I go to see you after you go back, I’m gonna need to know how to talk to you, right?”

Yuuri looks at him, and then glances at Hana.

“As uncomfortable as it’ll be, Your Highness, Phichit has a point.”

Screwing up his face in a frown, Yuuri takes a long sip of his coffee. “You truly think it best, Nee-chan?”

“I do. Only during lessons.”

A defeated set to his shoulders, Yuuri nods.  _ “Only _ during lessons,” he says. His tone leaves no room for argument.

“Understood, Sir.”

“What’s the plan for today?” Phichit asks curiously. He doesn’t always sit in on Yuuri’s lessons but there has been the occasional topic too interesting for him to ignore.

“Interestingly enough,” Hana says, “review of titles and ranking.”

“I know all of this,” Yuuri grumbles.

“We haven’t reviewed in over six months. Humor me, Highness. Please..”

Scooting his chair closer to the table, Phichit nods determinedly. “I’m in,” he says.

“Don’t you have homework?” Yuuri asks.

“I’ve finished the important bits,” Phichit replies, “and I’m procrastinating on the rest.”

Yuuri merely nods slowly. “I can respect that.” Taking a sip of his coffee, he glances at Hana. “I suppose now is as… good a time as any?”

“Should I start practicing now, too?” Phichit asks.

After giving him a pained look, Yuuri closes his eyes and nods, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I suppose.”

  
  


~*~

 

Two of Phichit’s hamsters have been missing for almost a week. He hears their scratching on the hardwood, has seen flashes of fur out of the corner of his eye on more than one occasion, but he has yet to actually locate and retrieve the escaped convicts. He’s checking the few traps they have set up around the apartment, designed to lure and contain his precious children, but so far there’s been no luck. Which is why he’s surprised to see Arthur running across his floor one day, as happy as can be. The hamster quickly disappears into a pile of clothes in Phichit’s closet, burrowing under old t-shirts and underwear with practiced ease. Phichit sets boxes in a semicircle around the closet door, making sure there’s no hole big enough for a hamster to squeeze through, and starts gingerly taking clothes off the pile and setting them in his hamper. He’s most of the way through the stack when Arthur and Stuart run out, squeaking as they make a break for it. The hamster corral works as intended, and Phichit makes short work of retrieving them.

Once they’re back in their cage, Phichit digs through his closet. He sorts his laundry as he goes, making notes of what he’s going to need to wash sooner rather than later. Feeling fairly accomplished with most of the pile out of the way, he freezes as he reaches for the last garment in the far corner. His hands brush up against a silky, embroidered piece of cloth, and his stomach plummets as he pulls out the purple fabric.

His free skate costume, having fallen off the hanger, has been chewed through and used as a hamster privy for the last week. It reeks, has holes the size of Phichit’s face through several of the layers near the hips and thighs, and is in no way fit for any sort of competition. Such as the one he has in a mere month.

Phichit has done his best to stay strong. He misses Thailand, he misses his family, he misses familiar food and speaking and reading a language he doesn’t have to work for, and he’s had lonely nights where there weren’t enough tears to fully ease the heartache, but this sends him over the edge. It took a lot of work balancing all of his and his family’s finances to be able to afford the costumes for his programs this year. He doesn’t have others that fit well enough to just throw on, he can’t afford to get this one replaced in time and it’s certainly beyond repair for even the most talented tailor.

He doesn’t hate his hamsters, but he feels an uncomfortable amount of resentment towards them and that’s close enough to cause a wave of guilt to push him from “nearly in tears” to sobbing into the unblemished shoulder of his costume, which is where he is when the lock in the front door disengages as his roommate gets home. 

When Yuuri knocks on his unlatched door, it swings open, and Phichit sees his face crumple as he takes in the scene before him. Boxes are still shoved haphazardly near the closet door, and Phichit is sitting against the wall clutching his dirty, smelly, chewed-through costume, tears still running down his face as he tries to swallow the sobs. Yuuri needs no explanation as he kneels near Phichit, running his fingers above the soiled material. Earnestly, he looks Phichit in the eyes. “How much to get a new one?”

Eyes widening, Phichit swallows again before he answers “The tailor is in Thailand. This outfit cost me 66,000 baht, there’s no way to get it replaced in time, Yuuri.”

“How much is that in US Dollars?”

When Phichit offers only a shrug, Yuuri pulls out his phone. The phone vibrates as Yuuri looks up currency conversion rates. After a minute, he nods and looks at Phichit. “Call your tailor. Ask them if they can replace it in time at all, and how much it’ll cost to rush it. I’ll pay for the outfit, and we can get it fitted and pick it up before the competition.”  _ Pay for it? _ Hope wells up in Phichit’s chest before he crushes it back down.

“Yuuri, they’re in  _ Thailand. _ ”

Yuuri looks up, then, determined, and for the first time since he found out, Phichit sees the prince he is coming to the surface. “You said. Call them. Tell them I’ll double the cost of the outfit if they can get it made in time, and they’ll get half up front. You and I can fly to Thailand before the competition and get it fitted, altered, and pick it up, we’ll be back in the States the next day.”

“You don’t have to do this.” This is a lot to ask. This is going to cost Yuuri more than their combined rent for the next three months. It’s going to be a lot to pay back, but Phichit’s determined to do so if it comes to that.

“I  _ want _ to do this, Phichit.”

“It’s a lot of money.”

“I know. It’s fine.” 

“I can’t ask for all of this.”

Yuuri sighs, runs his hand through his hair, and sits back on his heels, looking Phichit in the eyes. “You never asked. I said I’d do it. This is your  _ dream _ , Phichit. To skate, and show everyone what Thai skaters are capable of. Let me help you,” he says earnestly. Phichit looks down at his ruined costume, running his fingers over the rhinestones and embroidery set onto the fabric. He should ask if the tailor wants it mailed to them, to use on the new one. Looking back up at his best friend he nods, eyes shining with new tears.

He lets Yuuri wrap his arms around him. After taking a moment to lean into him, and with some gentle encouragement, Phichit pulls out his phone. The tailor who’d made his costume is thrilled to hear how much he loved it, but her voice fills with sadness when he describes what happened. A festival is coming up soon, she has two more outfits to finish in the next month around her normal work. He explains, at first hesitantly, Yuuri’s proposal, and when he gets to the part about paying twice the cost of the outfit, her tone changes. They discuss a date for the final fitting, five days before the competition and cutting it a bit too close for comfort, and it’s marked in his calendar. Phichit is instructed to take measurements again, and to cut whatever gemstones he can off of the ruined costume to mail back. They still have enough material to get started, and can get a shipment of the remaining fabric soon.

Yuuri goes with him to wire the money, swiping his regular debit card, and for the first time Phichit wonders how all that works, and just how much money Yuuri has access to, being “exiled” as he is.

 

Phichit fights a lump in his throat as he looks himself in the mirror. The tailor is pinning the hems of his pants, his new costume almost identical to his old and just as comfortable. Yuuri sits to the side, snacking on a variety of foods Phichit made him purchase to try. Next to him, several large bags of Phichit’s favorite snacks and instant noodles lean against the wall, ready to be stuffed in their suitcases for the flight home.

“It looks good,” Yuuri says, popping a shrimp cracker in his mouth.

He changes out of the garment when told to, handing it over for final alterations before he and Yuuri get ready to return to the States. They wander a nearby market while they wait, Phichit grabbing skewers of meat and sweet mango rice for them to share. He chats animatedly in his native Thai, Yuuri standing patiently nearby. Phichit asks too many questions, carries on conversations for longer than he should, and by the time they get back to the tailor’s shop Yuuri looks tired.

“Sorry,” Phichit apologizes, “it’s just…it’s been a while, you know?”

Yuuri nods. “It must be comforting, being in Thailand again.”

“Yeah.”

They pick up the costume, Phichit trying it on one last time to check the fit before happily folding it into a garment bag. The ride to the airport consists of lively conversation on Phichit’s part with the driver, Yuuri staring out the window with a strange look. He’s closer to home now than he’s been in years, and it’s impossible to read his face to figure out whether it’s comforting, or only more painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!!! We're approaching the point where Viktor shows up and I'm..... very excited to publish some of the stuff I have for their interactions!!
> 
> The next update will likely be a month from now, depending on how things go. I have stuff ready for [All This and Heaven, Too,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026677) and I'll see which is more publishing-ready in two weeks. Next week you can expect the usual TNOT update.
> 
> I can be ~~yelled at~~ found on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon.](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/)


	5. "Yes, but consider this..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phichit knows two people who could do with the company of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place just before, and just after, the beginning of [the first chapter of The Nature of Things.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548)

Phichit walks into the rink like it’s any other day, gear bag slung over his shoulder as he hums a few bars of _Terra Incognita._ There’s another gear bag in the locker room, a light blue knapsack slumped over on the bench. Having been working with Celestino for a few years now, Phichit’s familiar with the gear bags of every skater in the building during their private practices, and this one he’s never seen before.  Not at the rink, not at competition, and it’s definitely not Celestino’s, so his curiosity is piqued.

The question of whose it is gets answered when the door to the bathroom area opens, and Viktor Nikiforov walks out.

_Viktor Nikiforov._

Phichit’s heart skips in his chest and he has to work to resist the urge to pull out his phone and text Yuuri right away. Yuuri’s at work. Yuuri handles hot liquids for a living. Yuuri does not need an accident, especially with the palace’s skewed sense of “risk assessment.” Yuuri would like to _keep_ his job.

He’s sorely tempted, though.

As it is, he jumps to his feet, wobbling on his skates for a second as Viktor looks at him, smiling.

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov!” he says cheerfully.

Phichit nods, gulping. “I know,” he says. “Phichit Chulanont, from Thailand.” Out of habit, he puts his hands together in front of his chest, bowing slightly, and is surprised to see Viktor return the wai. Viktor smiles when he sees Phichit’s expression.

“I’ve met a few Thai skaters over the years,” he laughs.

He holds out his hand, and Phichit takes it, gripping firmly as he shakes. “So what are you doing here?” Phichit asks before he can stop himself. Viktor’s skating, obviously. In the rink Phichit uses. For some reason.

Instead of being offended, Viktor chuckles. “I have some competitions in the United States coming up and figured it’d be easier if I was staying in the country! Detroit is close to both, so Yakov called Celestino and set it up so I can train here for a few months! It’s very nice to meet you, Phichit. I look forward to working with you!” Viktor’s nice. Almost _too_ nice, if Phichit’s being honest, but at least his reputation as being ‘always friendly’ seems well-earned.

 

They’re on break when Phichit pulls out his phone.

 

 **To: Prince Buttercup**  
**> >>   yuuri. yuuri i know you’re at work right now**  
**> >>   but this is important**  
**> >>   yuuri**  
**> >>   yuuri you’re not going to believe this**

 **From: Prince Buttercup**  
**< <<   do i need to pick you up?**  
**< <<   were you arrested? do i need to call the embassy?**  
**< <<   are you at the hospital?**

 **To: Prince Buttercup**  
**> >>   no no i’m fine**  
**> >>   it’s just**

 

“Phichit!” Celestino walks over, smiling. “You may have noticed Viktor here,” he says, “and I wanted to make sure you were on top of the situation.”

“He said he has competitions?” Phichit’s phone buzzes in his hand, but he’s already had a talk with Celestino once this week about using his phone during conversations and he has no desire to repeat the experience.

Nodding, Celestino glances back out at the ice, where Viktor’s running a step sequence. “He does. He offered to help out with some of the junior skaters in exchange for rink access. He’ll be here for a couple of months.”

Phone vibrating again in his hand, Phichit does his best not to glance at it while Celestino is talking, but apparently fails because the coach laughs. “Go text Yuuri,” he says with a smile. “Back on the ice in ten.”

Phichit nods gratefully. “Ok, Ciao Ciao.”

 

 **From: Prince Buttercup**  
**< <<   ………… it’s just what?**  
**< <<   phichit what’s going on?**  
**< <<   phichit do i have to drive over there**

 **To: Prince Buttercup**  
**> >>   sorry, ciao ciao was talking to me**  
**> >>   viktor nikiforov’s skating at my rink**

 **From: Prince Buttercup**  
**< <<   what did he say?**  
**< <<   holy shit really?!**  
**< <<   you’re joking**

 

Phichit debates sending a selfie with his hand on his chest in mock offense, but gets a better idea and heads out to the ice.

“Viktor!!” he shouts, skating up to the other man.

Capping his water bottle, Viktor turns around. “Phichit,” he says, smiling, “how’s everything going?”

“Practice is going great. I was wondering, can I get a selfie with you? To send to a friend, he’s a fan.”

“Sure!” Viktor runs his fingers through his hair, straightening it out before smiling cheerfully.

Holding up peace signs, they look into the camera as Phichit snaps the photo, and he looks it over, smiling.

“Is it alright?” Viktor asks.

Phichit nods. “It’s great, thanks. Can I put it on Instagram, too?”

“Will you tag me in it?” He grins when Phichit nods his agreement.

He first sends the picture to Yuuri, before switching over to Instagram and posting the picture. Almost instantly, his phone vibrates in his hand as he gets a notification.

**@v-nikiforov** **has followed you!**

Glancing up at Viktor, he waves when he sees the other man smile at him and his phone vibrates again.

 

 **From: Prince Buttercup** **  
** **< <<   no way** **  
** **< <<   holy shit.**

 **To: Prince Buttercup** **  
** **> >>   yup.** **  
** **> >>   he’ll be here for a couple of months** **  
** **> >>   ciao ciao’s giving me a look, gtg** **  
** **> >>   you should drop by practice ;p**

 

Yuuri doesn’t drop by practice. Not that day, not any day in the months following. Somehow, Phichit thought training alongside Viktor Nikiforov would be less… typical. After the first few practices, it almost feels normal for Phichit to walk into the rink and see the reigning World Champion chatting with his coach or another skater. Still, once Viktor’s on the ice, he seems untouchable. Every once in a while he has a laptop set up and part of the rink marked off so he can work with his coach in Russia, running step sequences or jumps.

As time passes, though, Phichit begins to see what most people seem to miss. When he’s alone, or thinks he is, Viktor rarely looks as happy as he does in front of people. His shoulders droop, he spends a lot of time reading on his phone. There’s a melancholy in his expression sometimes that he doesn’t quite manage to hide behind the dazzling grin he’s so famous for, heartachingly lonely despite the slew of friends and friendly acquaintances he has. It becomes clearer, though, as Phichit watches his interactions with other skaters. The reverence with which they hold onto his every word doesn’t lessen over time, instead seeming to only increase.  Celestino makes mention on occasion of having the Living Legend sharing their rink.

It’s a loneliness that comes with prestige, he realizes. He knows this, because he’s seen the same look on Yuuri’s face when his bodyguard and Minako are around, when he’s being deferred to instead of just treated _normally._ It’s the same weight Yuuri wears when he talks about home, talks about a childhood spent amongst other children too scared to approach and adults who treated him like a prince before they treated him like a person. Viktor needs someone to talk to, that much is clear. Someone with whom he can connect, who understands such loneliness and how to mitigate it. While it’s impossible for Yuuri to truly connect, he at least _understands._

Phichit’s opportunity comes when he looks out the window to see Viktor, unusually late, sidling up with gas station coffee and the look of a man who’s made a decision he’s not sure he won’t regret.

 

~*~

 

“Phichit, what the _fuck?!”_

The door slams behind Yuuri when he gets back from work. On the couch, Phichit looks up innocently.

“What’d I do?”

“V-Viktor!” he says. “You sent Viktor to the café!”

In mock offense, Phichit puts his hand on his chest. “I never.”

“Don’t even, I saw the hamster on his note thing, you’re not slick. I thought he was leaving soon?”

Shaking his head, Phichit grins. “He decided to stay indefinitely, according to Ciao Ciao.”

Yuuri toes his shoes off near the door and walks over to flop on the couch. “I can’t believe you,” he groans, putting his hands over his face. Something about his tone says he’s more serious than he’s letting on, and Phichit turns towards him curiously.

“Yuuri? Is this _actually_ a problem?”

Dropping his hands, Yuuri sighs. “I don’t know,” he says. “There are so many things that could go badly, you know?”

“Like?”

“Like… I don’t know, like if someone takes a picture of him at the café or something and posts it and I’m in the background…”

“Yuuri, no one’s going to assume some barista at a café is… you.”

“They don’t need to assume,” he replies, “if someone who knew me as a kid recognizes me they might say something.”

There’s no way for Phichit to know how likely it actually is that Yuuri could end up being recognized, but he’s been out of the public eye for long enough that Phichit would bet it’d be hard for someone to put the pieces together. Yuuri has a better idea of the risks involved, yes, but he also has anxiety and the way his hands move, thumbs rubbing his palms, fingers threading through and around each other says this is more anxiety than actual fact. Phichit knows Viktor well enough by now to know that, should they become friends, he'd respect Yuuri enough to be careful, even if he's not sure why.

“Yuuri,” Phichit says with a sigh, “how likely is it really that you personally will be absolutely recognized?”

“It’s not,” is the quiet response. “But what about Instagram?” he asks. “What if he posts something?”

“He’s not going to put you on social media without you being okay with it. He’ll ask, and you can tell him no, and that’s that.”

“But what if he forgets to ask?”

“Yuuri.” Phichit sits up, looking at his best friend. “Yuuri he asked _me_ if I was ok with him posting a picture of us. _Me._ Figure skating’s social media darling. He understands the need for privacy, Yuuri, better than a lot of people. He won’t violate yours.”

“Are you sure?” Quiet, hesitant, Yuuri looks down at his hands.

“Yuuri I’ve been stuck on a sheet of ice five days a week with this man for months.”

Yuuri looks at him out of the corner of his eye before nodding. “Ok. I trust you.”

The weight of the world is behind those words. Phichit knows what this trust entails, knows that it’s rare for Yuuri to truly, completely trust someone like this and it’s both an incredible honor and a huge responsibility. Yuuri trusts Phichit, and Phichit would never betray him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff's still a bit hectic, but I'm getting things ironed out in TNOT Ch. 11, which should be up in a week.
> 
> Meanwhile, Closets has finally reached TNOT's timeline!! There will be a few scenes in upcoming chapters you'll recognize from TNOT, though told from Phichit's PoV, adding additional context for what's going on when Viktor's not around, or simply things he doesn't see in the same way Phichit's able to.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!!!


	6. "I miss you already."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit watches as Yuuri finds out just what will happen, and the start of a new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has taken quite the angsty turn. This chapter takes place starting at the end of TNOT Chapter 5 (when Yuuri finds out he's likely to become king soon) through just after Yuuri has taken the throne. Lots of emotions to be had, and much of it is grief, so be prepared.

“We’re currently discussing possible arrangements for a visit in the near future,” Yuuri says as he nuzzles into the crook of Viktor’s shoulder. Phichit’s stomach goes cold, and the world seems to go silent for a second.

Yuuri’d been planning on visiting his family on the sly, but… there’s only one reason he’d tell Viktor anything about that. Viktor will end up finding out soon anyway.

His mouth opens slightly in disbelief. “You’ll be going _home_ soon?” he asks, barely above a whisper. He knows Yuuri understands what he means.

Yuuri nods against Viktor’s chest, eyes wide. “Yeah. I will.”

Phichit swallows the lump in his throat.

When Viktor’s gone, he walks straight over to Yuuri and hugs him, kneeling with him as he sags to the ground. Yuuri wraps his arms around Phichit’s torso, squeezing, sobbing into his shoulder. His knees curl towards his chest as Phichit pulls him closer, and they’re both crying on the floor. Sobs wrack Yuuri’s body as he clings. It must be awful. The Palace still isn’t letting him talk to Viktor. He’s losing the only home he’s known for a decade, his father, his independence, and there’s nothing to say he won’t be losing his boyfriend, too. Overwhelmed, Yuuri’s had far too much stress and far too little appetite and between his mad rush to finish his final presentation, work, school, and his sessions with Minako there’s been precious little time to process everything that’s going on, and now he’s fighting to breathe through the maelstrom of emotion.

 

They find themselves curled up on Yuuri's bed later, hamsters in their hair and on Phichit’s chest and Yuuri's talking to Arthur in hushed tones. They haven’t talked about it since Viktor was here, haven’t needed to. They both know well enough what’s coming. There’s a short knock on the door, and when Phichit looks out of the peep hole he sees Yuuri's bodyguard. He opens the door just as Yuuri walks into the living room, and his posture straightens as Hana enters.

“I suppose you’ve been contacted, Your Highness?” Yuuri nods. He’s never fought her using his titles, had only ever been weird about it when Phichit was around, but that faded long ago.

“I have.” He makes tea. He’s stressed, so he ends up making tea for everyone and a pot for the table, setting the tray down in the middle before taking his seat.

“Highness, I was more than capable of making tea for you if you wanted some,” she says, and Yuuri looks up at her in pain.

“Let me have this, Nee-chan. Let me have this for now.”

She nods kindly, patting his hand. Their relationship has always seemed strange to Phichit, less so after he learned its true nature, but still. Their banter is easy, her teasing light, but there’s always an undercurrent of respect and deference, unless they’re in public. Phichit imagines this is much like Yuuri's life before hiding.

“Highness… _Yuuri-kun,_ before we discuss anything, I just want to offer my sincerest apologies for the nature of your return.”

Yuuri merely shrugs as he adds two sugar cubes to his tea, and Phichit’d never realized they _had_ any until now. “It can’t be helped, neither you nor anyone else is at fault,” he says, slouching. He still hasn't quite figured out how to slouch without it looking slightly awkward. When asked, he blames Minako and Hana’s gentle training over the years.

“We’d always hoped it would be by choice. That you’d be able to just…return to your role as Crown Prince with little issue.”

“I know,” Yuuri says, and his voice cracks and Phichit can see the barest hint of tears in his eyes.

Phichit narrows his eyes. “How likely is it to just… be a return, Yuuri?” he asks, and his voice is shaking and he can feel his chest growing tight.

Yuuri and Hana share a long, poignant look, before Yuuri closes his eyes and sips his tea, shaking his head from side to side.

It’s not likely.

Not likely at all.

Yuuri will be King before he turns 24.

 

~*~

 

Phichit happens to be looking at his phone when a text from Viktor comes through, saying Yuuri's upset and asked for him. He’s not surprised in the least, considering there are three people in the entire United States that know what’s going on, that _can_ know what’s going on, and as Phichit jogs to Viktor’s house in the cold of the night, he curses Yuuri's security team.

The last week has been a round of steadily-angrier fights, with the security team insisting that a background check takes time and Yuuri needs to be patient, and Yuuri's insistence that his boyfriend be allowed to know what’s going on before it’s too late. Phichit knows Yuuri's stubborn, has always known he’s a fighter, but he’s never seen it come out in quite this way before. Well-thought-out arguments are presented with an air of authority, orders streaming out of Yuuri's mouth more easily than water. He contacted his mother and sister, has them working on it at their end, but still the security team refuses to allow him to tell Viktor, despite the months they’ve had since the initial request.

Phichit hates them. He _hates_ them for making Yuuri lie. Yuuri's never liked being dishonest. He’d hated lying to Phichit, but… he hates lying to Viktor more, and Phichit can see why. He’s only ever going to be Yuuri's friend. His best friend, yes, but not a romantic partner. Phichit would only have to adapt to the change in Yuuri's position, and a somewhat new dynamic.

Viktor would have to adapt to an entirely new life and, if they get married like Phichit’s been hoping they would because frankly they’re too good for each other not to, to a change in status. Viktor deserves to have time to get used to things. Yuuri wants him to have that time. But the palace with its unnecessary rules and bureaucracy and not letting Yuuri tell his boyfriend he’s a prince… they’re making things hard.

They’re especially making things hard _on Yuuri._

He arrives at Viktor’s complex, keying in the code by memory and taking the stairs two at a time. He’s barely knocked on the door before Viktor’s swinging it open, face stricken. Yuuri's nearly sobbing in the living room, hyperventilating and waving his hands at his sides, and Phichit pulls him into the bedroom before he falls apart.

Which he very promptly does, leaning against Viktor’s bed as he curls into himself.

 

“What happened?” Phichit says, after Yuuri calms down.

“He told me he loved me,” is the response, and more tears run down Yuuri's face. Phichit fails to see the problem, until Yuuri continues. “He told me he loved everything _about me,_ Phichit.”

Ahh. Viktor doesn’t _know_ everything about him, and what he doesn’t know could very well hurt him. Not for the first time, and likely not for the last, Phichit mutters a string of violent swears in Thai, the kind of language that would have his mother on his case for a year, and it’s not enough to get his anger out.

It makes a small smile come to Yuuri's face, though, so that’s something.

 

~*~

 

“I’m going to Russia,” Yuuri says in the dark of their living room the next evening.

“You’re going where now?” Phichit looks over. Yuuri’d slept most of the day, hadn’t bothered changing out of his pajamas, and he just looks tired.

“Russia,” Yuuri says. “I bought tickets, round-trip, to see Viktor at Nationals. Will you watch Makkachin?” His voice is soft, shaky. “It’s my last chance to see him,” Yuuri says, broken, and Phichit’s heart shatters.

“I’ll watch him,” he says. “Yuuri, I’ll take care of him. Go see Viktor skate. Go spend time with him, god knows you need it.”

“Is what’s-his-name’s fraternity still having that party?” Yuuri asks absently.

“I think so,” Phichit replies. “I can text him, see what’s up. Why, do you want to get out of the house?”

Yuuri nods. “I don’t have much longer,” he says, “not to do stuff like this.”

Phichit’s heart shatters, and he pulls out his phone.

  


Yuuri is trashed. Completely. Phichit’s starting to have second thoughts about bringing him to the frat party, and is currently regretting truthfully answering Viktor’s text asking where they were. He gets it, honestly. Yuuri’s never been good with conflict, and Viktor fucked up and wants to apologize. Phichit wants his best friend to be happy again. But he didn’t realize a pole would be brought out, he certainly didn’t anticipate Yuuri enthusiastically deciding to strip to his now-open button-up and boxer-briefs to show off what years of pole dancing lessons, ballet, and figure skating can do for you, and he most definitely did _not_ count on that being the exact moment _Viktor fucking Nikiforov_ decides to show up to talk to his boyfriend.

Viktor’s standing in the door of the living room, staring as Yuuri does an impressive Superman, followed by swinging himself around the pole with a flourish. Yuuri’s about four feet from the floor when he notices Viktor, eyes going wide and a stupid grin splitting his face for a brief second before he loses concentration and slides down the pole, landing on the floor with a grunt.

“Vitya!!!” he shouts enthusiastically, jumping to his feet. “Did you see me?! I did great, right?!?!”

The flush spreading across Viktor’s face is more than enough to answer the question, but he nods, clearing his throat. By the time he opens his mouth to speak, Yuuri has grabbed his hand and is pulling him into the living room to dance.

Phichit grabs a glass of water and hovers nearby.

They get through three songs before Viktor finally raises his hands in surrender, laughing. He guides Yuuri back over to Phichit before Yuuri throws himself against him. _“Vitya,”_ he says, slurring his words severely in a way Phichit’s only heard a few times before. “Vitya. I have to pee.”

Yuuri stalks off towards the bathroom, weaving his way through the crowd (which honestly looks more like him staggering drunkenly through while people clear a path).

Phichit moves himself closer to Viktor. “When I messaged you he was only a beer and a half in, I thought he’d be relatively sober when you got here.”

Viktor sighs gently next to him. “How is he?”

Phichit takes a long drink of his beer. “He’s doing ok.” Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Well, he will be. Especially after you guys have sorted it out.” Viktor nods. Phichit has faith in them.

“Before I forget, he left this at my place,” Viktor says as he holds out Yuuri's phone. Phichit takes it gratefully. Yuuri's bodyguard had called in a panic a few hours ago, upset that he hadn’t answered his phone, and Phichit has no real desire to get on her bad side.

“I’ll make sure it gets back to him,” Phichit says, putting the phone in his jeans pocket with Yuuri's wallet.

Yuuri shortly stumbles back into the room, glassy-eyed and red-faced.

Collapsing onto Viktor, he giggles. “Vitya!” He’s got his arms wrapped around the man and a look on his face that says he’d rather be nowhere else right now.

“He’s a regular Prince Charming.” Viktor says to Phichit, smiling. Yuuri’s eyes widen.

Phichit is suddenly very, _very_ alert.

“I’m your Prince Charming?!” Yuuri is glowing. He beams when Viktor nods sheepishly. “You should be _my_ Prince Charming, Vitya!!” Yuuri shouts, pulling Viktor towards him and making a valiant attempt to move his hips seductively.

Oh no. Drunk Yuuri is not nearly as careful as Sober Yuuri, and at this point, Sober Yuuri doesn’t feel like he has much to lose.

“And I’ll be _yours_ _any day of the week,”_ he’s making some motions that could be vaguely construed as sexual, but look more like he’s about to throw up, and opens his mouth to continue. “I’ll do it-“

“All right, Big Boy, time to go home!” Phichit interrupts, handily grabbing Yuuri, peeling him off of Viktor’s body like a wet paper towel and pulling him away despite his attempts at protesting. He’s grateful when someone hands him Yuuri’s pants, and, looking back at Viktor he mouths “Sorry”, mimes gagging while looking pointedly at Yuuri, and makes a vague texting motion. Viktor nods and waves them off.

He gets Yuuri dressed before they head into the snow, and they’re out the door, halfway down the block, when Yuuri stops him. “Phichit,” he says, still slurring as he pushes his glasses up his nose, “Phichit why did you take me away from him? He was gonna be my prince, Phichit.”

Phichit puts his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and guides him down the road towards their flat. “You’re drunk, Yuuri. You can’t go around saying shit like that!”

Yuuri drops into a whisper. “But I wanna be his prince and I want him to be _my_ prince and…”

“Yes but you can’t go around telling him that, your bodyguard would kill you.”

Yuuri looks up at him, a petulantly serious expression on his face. “That’s like… the exact _opposite_ of her job, Phichit. Do you even know what a bodyguard _does?”_

Phichit laughs, and escorts the wayward prince back to their home. He’s unlocking their door when Yuuri lets out a pained moan.

“Phiiiiichiiiiit,” he whines, “my glasses are at the party!”

Phichit looks at Yuuri, standing in front of him with wide eyes, before raising one eyebrow. “They’re on your face.”

Yuuri crosses his eyes, looking at his nose, before reaching up and touching the blue plastic. “Good. They are _very_ important.” Yuuri nods determinedly. “Was Sober Yuuri smart enough to give you his wallet?” Phichit nods, patting his back pocket. He opens the door, and shuffles Yuuri inside, dropping him on the couch. Locking the front door, he grabs a glass of water and brings it out.

He puts the drink on the table, setting Yuuri's phone next to it.

“You left your phone at Viktor’s, he gave it to me for you. Drink up.”

He leaves Yuuri on the couch while he changes into pajamas and brushes his teeth. He grabs a pair of Yuuri’s pj pants and a t-shirt out of his room and walks back out to the living room to see Yuuri staring morosely at his empty glass. Phichit drops Yuuri’s clothes on the coffee table and picks up the cup. “Can you put on your pj’s?” Yuuri nods slowly and pulls his shirt off as Phichit heads to the kitchen.

By the time Yuuri’s glass is refilled and Phichit’s back in the living room, Yuuri has managed to put on his pajamas with no apparent issue. He gratefully accepts the water offered to him, and chugs it before laying down. “Phichit I’ma sleep here tonight.”

“You really should get to bed, Yuuri.”

“’S far.”

Phichit sighs. “Remember how badly your back hurt the last time you slept here? Work sucked for three days and you could barely skate.”

Yuuri scrunches his face into a frown. Slowly, he makes his way into a seated position. “Do you think he liked my dancing?”

“I’m sure he _loved_ your dancing, he couldn’t stop smiling.” Phichit sits next to Yuuri, putting his arm over his shoulders.

“Do you think he still likes _me?”_ Yuuri’s voice cracks on the last word, and Phichit pulls him closer, rubbing his shoulder.

“I’m sure he still likes you. He wanted to kiss you, after all.”

“Mmm but not at a kissing time, it was bad timing.” Yuuri tips precariously to the right before returning to lean against Phichit. “He’s gonna hate me, you know. When he finds out.”

“You don’t know that, Yuuri. You should tell him.”

Yuuri shakes his head, swaying slightly. “Palace says nooo. They haven’t said yet if he can know my _true_ identity.”

“At this point, he’s going to find out anyway.”

Yuuri frowns again, drinking his water. “Maybe so. But if things get better and I don’t go back for good and the security team doesn’t want him to know, he won’t _have_ to break up with me, they’ll break us up _for_ him.”

“You still don’t know he’s going to break up with you, he might stay. Yuuri, he loves you, he talks about you all the time.”

“Probably complaini—“

“No, Yuuri! It’s… no one at the rink has _ever_ seen him this happy before. Ciao Ciao says Feltsman called asking what was going on with Viktor, since he apparently has been a ‘grinning idiot’ for months. Yuuri, he came to the party to apologize!”

“He what?” Yuuri's looking at him, strangely sober.

“He came so he could apologize. To you.”

Yuuri considers this for a second. “His coach actually said he’s been happier?”

Phichit nods.

“What am I going to do, Phichit?”

“Tell him you’re sorry you freaked out, and that you love him, and that you wanna have royal babies with him.”

“Phichit.” Yuuri groans, burying his face in his hands.

“At least do the first two,” Phichit says as he holds Yuuri's water near him. “Here, drink. You don’t want a hangover, you work tomorrow morning.” He nudges Yuuri's hands with the glass until it’s taken reluctantly.

 

~*~

 

At the airport, before they head to Hasetsu, Phichit stands on the curb for a long moment with his best friend. Viktor is standing a few feet away with his luggage, and Yuuri's back is to him. He’s biting his lip, looking absolutely terrified, and Phichit knows he’s just thinking about the fourteen-hour flight, and what’s to come. He wraps his arms around his best friend, swallowing his own sadness, and he feels Yuuri's cheek come to rest on his shoulder.

“It’ll be ok,” Phichit whispers desperately, trying to offer final words of comfort before Yuuri's gone, and in that moment it hits him that it’s more true than he’d realized.

Barista and Lovable Dork Extraordinaire Yuuri Katsuki is, effectively, gone.

His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Yuuri of Akitsushima is taking his place, and grief aches within Phichit.

He knows Yuuri himself is staying the same, that they’re still going to be best friends, but he feels a sense of loss for the way things were. There’ll be no more movie nights, no more arguing about which takeout place to order from. No playful ribbing, or exasperation as Phichit is reminded, once again, that Yuuri fails completely at being a normal person half the time. The apartment is half-empty, Viktor intentionally kept away so as not to see Yuuri's room boxed up. Some boxes are marked for donation, others to be sent along at a later date. Yuuri's set a couple of boxes aside for Phichit, with orders they aren’t to be opened until he says so. Nothing’s been moved out, though, thanks to some vague hope that things will return to normal, but they both know it’s wishful thinking.

Yuuri backs away slightly, eyes wide and red and glistening.

“It’ll be ok,” Phichit says again, trying to convince himself as much as Yuuri and Yuuri smiles sadly. It’s heartbreaking.

“You don’t know that, Phichit.”

“I’ll make sure of it, Yuuri.” He will. He’ll make sure that no matter what happens, no matter what the palace or Viktor does, Yuuri's going to be ok. “No matter what, you won’t lose me.”

Yuuri pulls him tight against his chest.

“Tell him,” Phichit whispers, throat thick with unshed tears.

“I can’t,” Yuuri says softly against his shoulder, voice breaking. “I’ve been texting my sister the whole time. They’re still saying no.”

“At this point, Yuuri, fuck the security team.”

“Phichit, that could get him detained if they’re upset enough. I can’t do that to him.”

“Well, the instant you can. Make sure he knows.”

Yuuri nods, squeezing tightly one last time. “I love you, Phichit. I’m going to miss you, so much,” he says as his voice hitches. “You’re an amazing best friend.”

Phichit smiles, doing his best to hide the pain. “Love you too, Nerd. Go. You can get through this. You’ve handled everything life’s thrown at you so far, you can kick ass here, too, Yuuri.”

Yuuri nods again, before wiping his eyes and turning back to Viktor with a smile. “Are you ready?”

Viktor grins happily. Phichit knows he’s excited about the trip, he’s barely shut up about it at the rink, but…his excitement, juxtaposed with the trip’s serious nature (which, admittedly, he _doesn’t know about)_ is jarring. The emotional dissonance is uncomfortable, and Phichit shifts as he does his best to return the smile. Viktor and Yuuri grab their bags and take each other’s hands.

Yuuri glances back once, eyes wide, before they walk through the glass doors of the terminal.

  


The apartment feels wrong when he gets home. Makka sleeps soundly on the couch, and Phichit’s about to head to his room when he sees an envelope propped up on the table. His name is written across the front, both in English and a bad (yet strangely beautiful) attempt at Thai. He smiles, recognizing Yuuri's handwriting instantly.

He opens the envelope, and begins to read.

 _Hamstermaster,_ (he’s still smiling but has tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat and it’s not _fair.)_

_I… I don’t really know how to start this letter. We both know what’s happening._

_We both know I’m not coming back. My dad isn’t doing well at all, and even if he doesn’t pass soon, they’re going to want me to stay. Probably to assume the role of Regent until his death, at which point I’ll be King._ (They both have known this for a while, but Yuuri didn’t have to be rude and actually _say_ it.)

 _I’ve never expected the prospect of going home to come with such sadness. For most of my life, I was just biding my time. I wouldn’t get too close to people, wouldn’t get very involved, because nothing was interesting. That’s not to say I didn’t have friends, but none of them were particularly_ _good_ _friends, and I was just waiting for the phone call saying I could go back. Then I moved in with you. At first, it was just an experiment to see how well I could do on my own (which I failed miserably, as you well know. You’re a lifesaver), but we grew close. Unusually close, as far as I was concerned, and for the first time, I let myself pretend at normalcy beyond the superficial. I got the job at the café, I started skating again, which I hadn’t done much since leaving Alpena. I learned to enjoy the way things were._

_And then you found out, and I have to admit I was terrified. There’s only been one time in my life I slipped up, and a teacher came too close to knowing the truth. Close enough to call my bodyguard and tell her I’d been saying some “unusual things.” My bodyguard threw her off, convinced her I made up stories._

_That night, we were on the road to Chicago with a new car, new names…new everything. I never saw people from that school again, and as far as I know, to them I’m either the mysterious student who vanished, or dead. If we’re being honest, they were probably told I was dead. I was scared the same thing would happen with you. That I’d get a call to meet Hana somewhere and we’d vanish, and I wouldn’t see you again, for years at least. I was terrified I’d lose you._

_Things didn’t turn out that way, and being able to be honest, truly honest with someone, was a new and refreshing experience._

_I treasure our time together. I’ll always look back on it fondly, and I hope we still have many years of friendship ahead of us._

_Hana is remaining in Detroit to tie up any loose ends and take care of sending my stuff when needed. She’ll contact you after I come back into the public eye, and when she does, you both will go to the DMV to submit the paperwork I’ve left with her. I’m giving you my car. I won’t have any use for it in Akitsushima, between traffic being on the left hand side of the road, and having cars and drivers at the palace. Take care of it? The spare key is on my dresser._ _I officially give you permission to hang stuffed hamsters off the rearview mirror_ _(expect a set shipped to the apartment in the next few days. I want pictures). Obviously, you have full control over the music choices as well. I’ve had the car washed, waxed, and vacuumed, and the mechanic I took it to last week gave it a full diagnostic check and changed the oil, brakes, and tires. You’re good to go. The tank is full, minus what you used to take us to the airport, but the gas card in the glove compartment should cover the difference._  

And now Phichit’s crying again because Yuuri, even in the midst of one of the most awful times of his life, is still trying his best to take care of him now that he can’t offer a cup of tea and this is so terribly, _horribly_ unfair.

 _Phichit,_ the letter continues, and the normally impeccable handwriting is uneven and shaky in parts, _I can’t express how much our years as roommates have meant to me._ _Still_ _mean to me. I’ve been happier than ever before, even with the distance between myself and my family. You made the frankly terrifying prospect of living on my own not only bearable, but amazing. You’ve been there with me from learning how to clean a bathroom, to learning that I’d have to give this life up. You’ve been there through every anxiety attack and lonely homesick night, and I couldn’t be more grateful._

 _You’re an absolute_ _gift,_ _Phichit, and I don’t want to imagine how life would be without you._

 _Take care and_ _keep in touch,_

_Yuuri._

 

_PS. Please tell Ciao Ciao “Thank you” for me. If you can, take him coffee from time to time. I'll reimburse you. He likes the medium roast, no sugar, and a bit of half and half. He’s also a fan of the holiday roast we have. I paid for two pounds of coffee at the café, if you could pick it up and take it to him sometime I’d appreciate it. Also if he gets mad at you for lying, tell him to talk to me. I’ll clear things up._

_PPS. I snuck into your room to tell my godbabies I love them, but please keep reminding them._

_PPPS. I’m hoping, if Viktor stays in Akitsushima, to have you fly Makkachin out for him. Let me know how you feel about that, since you’d end up visiting (finally). (I’d be covering travel. And yes, secret passages.)_

 

Tears run freely down Phichit’s face as he reads and re-reads the letter, Yuuri's voice clear, gentle, and sincere in his mind. He could use coffee, now that he thinks about it, and he leashes Makkachin up for a walk. When he walks into the Daily Grind, the barista at the counter smiles at him. Meg, her name is, and she turns back to yell for Yuuri like she usually does, but then shakes her head. She vanishes from behind the register as Phichit approaches, coming back with a cup in hand and one of the café’s gift bags.

“This is for your coach,” she says as she sets the bag on the counter. “Yuuri asked me to give it to you. And here’s some tea.”

“Tea?” Phichit asks, puzzled.

“Yeah,” Meg says, nodding. “Yuuri asked me to make you a cup of tea the next time you came in, paid for it himself. Two packets of honey and a slice of lemon, right?”

Phichit nods, taking the cup and bag, and does his absolute best impression of someone who’s not about to burst into tears for the third (fourth?) time that day. The sad look Meg gives him says he’s failing miserably.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Is everything ok?” she asks, and those are the exact words Phichit doesn’t want to hear. “Yuuri was sad when he gave his notice, and he’s been in a bad mood ever since. I think I heard him crying a couple of days ago. Is he ok?”

Phichit looks at her, breath caught in his lungs before he exhales in one long go. “Things are complicated right now, but he’s not sick or anything. I’ll keep you guys posted.”

She nods with a smile, waving at a customer who enters, jangling the bell on the door and it sounds awful. Phichit smiles in return, before fetching Makka and heading back to the apartment. The tea is his favorite, a rich herbal blend, and it has him crying before he’s halfway home.

He finally goes into his bedroom, Makkachin plodding slowly after him, and freezes when he sees new bags of hamster food and bedding sitting on the floor near his desk. A note saying “For the Godchildren” is propped up against the outside of the enclosure, far from where any hamsters could chew on it. A laugh bubbles up from his chest, bursting out of his throat into the quiet apartment before ending in a choked sob.

He calls his family that night, for the first time in two weeks, and ends up telling his mom as much as he possibly can without the palace having any grounds for retaliation.

 

~*~

 

_Oh._

_Oh no._

Phichit stands in the middle of his favorite Thai restaurant, takeout for that night's dinner in one hand and a to-go cup of tea in the other, staring at the TV mounted on the wall. A newscaster is discussing politics, the death of the Sachiman king and the subsequent ascension to the throne by the formerly-“exiled” prince, newly arrived in the country. Yuuri’s face takes up a third of the screen, and under the copious amounts of makeup Phichit can make out bags under his eyes. His expression is somber, regal, but Phichit can see what’s behind it.

Yuuri looks scared.

This would explain why Phichit hasn’t heard from him since he was supposed to have landed. He mutters harshly under his breath, walking out to Yuuri's… _his_ car and putting the food on the passenger seat. He slides into the driver’s seat, shutting the door before whipping out his phone.

 **To: Prince Buttercup** **  
** **> >>   yuuri, i saw the news.** **  
** **> >>   are you ok** **  
** **> >>   do i need to fly out to sachima. i will. you know i will.** **  
** **> >>   call me if you need me, i’ll keep my phone on loud.** **  
** **> >>   everythings gonna be ok. viktor knows, right? please tell me you told him before this happened.** **  
** **> >>   you did, right?** **  
** **> >>   call when you can, i know you’re busy. my babies send their love** **  
** **> >>   so does makkachin.** **  
** **> >>   are you doing alright? are you with family?** **  
** **> >>   i’m worried about you** **  
** **> >>   text me when you can** **  
** **> >>   please.**

 

Phichit hadn’t gotten any responses from Yuuri, but his messages with Viktor put his mind at ease. Yuuri wasn’t responding, but he was busy, Viktor had seen him. Viktor had known, and Yuuri’s doing as well as he can be considering the circumstances, and Phichit feels far better knowing Viktor’s there. Knowing Yuuri’s not alone. Predictably, when he arrives at the rink for a late practice, Celestino drags him straight into his office. Phichit sits in front of the desk without being asked, before a phone is set in front of him with an article about Yuuri on screen. He looks up at Celestino, sitting in his office chair now.

“Did you know about this?” His coach asks firmly.

“Know about what? The fact that he was royalty or about him becoming king?”

“The fact that he was royal to begin with, Phichit.” Celestino leans forward, frowning. His eyes are frosty, and between his bulk and his posture, Phichit suddenly feels intimidated.

He nods slowly. There’s no point in hiding it now, no real reason to. “I did.”

“For how long?” Celestino’s tone borders on accusatory, full of sharp edges.

“Few years, now.”

“And were you planning on telling me?”

Phichit looks at him slightly guiltily. “I wasn’t. Palace rules. I signed an NDA.”

“Did you know he was going home to become king?”

“I knew he was going home, and I knew he’d be king soon, I just didn’t know it’d happen so fast.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. No messages from Yuuri, still. Another violent stream of Thai floats through his mind in the vague direction of the Sachiman Royal Guard and Security.

Celestino pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is he coming back?”

“I guess he will if he figures out how he can live in Detroit and skate while he’s trying to rule a small country in Asia.” Phichit says, more irritation in his voice than he’d intended.

Instead of getting angry, Celestino leans back and sighs, resigned. “I suppose that was a stupid question. Take the night off, Phichit.”

“What?”

“It’s obvious you’re upset,” he says. “Probably worried about Yuuri. I am, too. So take the night…make that two nights off, collect yourself, eat whatever you like, watch your skating movies. Just keep me updated.”

“I can skate still,” Phichit insists. “I promise, I—”

Celestino cuts him off with a quick shake of his head. “You’ll constantly be checking your phone, I know you will. I’m guessing Yuuri hasn’t contacted you?”

Phichit slumps back in his chair as he shakes his head. “No, he hasn’t.” He’s not surprised. Yuuri's not the most forthcoming when it comes to his personal life, even when he’s not going through something like this. He just wants solid confirmation that his best friend’s okay.

“You’re too distracted to skate, Phichit,” Celestino says firmly. “Distracted skating comes with a higher risk of injury, you know that, and this…” he points at the article on his phone, “this is a pretty big distraction.”

He’s got a point. Unfortunately. Phichit had been looking forward to being on the ice and letting himself get absorbed in training, but his hands keep twitching towards his phone and he knows he won’t be able to focus until he knows Yuuri's okay.

_God, I hope he’s okay._

Phichit grabs his would-be dinner out of the office fridge on the way out, waving goodbye as he sips his tea. The drive back to the apartment is brief. Makkachin is napping on the couch, lifting his head when Phichit plops down next to him.  Phichit looks at the poodle’s morose eyes.

“I know, huh? Shit’s different.” He reverts to his native Thai when he’s alone with the dog, figuring if Makka is already being exposed to Russian, French, Japanese, and English, he can be exposed to one more language. “Yuuri's a king now, did you know? Of course you didn’t. Unless you watch the news while I’m out of the apartment, you sneaky boy.”

He moves to kneel on the floor, hugging Makkachin tightly and burying his face in the dog’s fur. “Yuuri's doing a lot of royal stuff now, Makka. He has a palace, and he’s told me about it. You’d like the grounds, I’d think. Yuuri's dog did. He was named Vicchan, you know. It’s short for ‘Victor,’ just like your owner.” It’s nonsense spewing out of his mouth, but it makes him feel better. Until it doesn’t.

“He lives in Sachima now, Makka.” His fingers curl in Makkachin’s hair as the lump in his throat threatens suffocation. Warm tears run down his face as he curls into himself, clinging to the poodle.

“He’s not coming back, Makka. He’s not… coming… home.”

It’s a good thing he didn’t skate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!!
> 
> I'm currently caught up with everything I have written for Closets, but there are a couple of things I'm still hoping to write at some point, including Phichit at the palace, but for now I'm focusing on TNOT and trying to get the next chapter up in two weeks.
> 
> As usual, you can find me on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon.](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Again, updates for this fic will be irregular due to its nature. Each chapter will have an estimate for when the next will be updated, depending on where TNOT is. 
> 
> I'll try to post updates on my tumblr, [ @we-call-everything-katsudon ](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


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